I AM fed up with reading about New Year’s Eve parties. How to make them go with a bang, how to host the best party ever, how to create the most memorable night of the year.

I am sick of seeing tips as to what to wear, what to drink, even what music to play.

And if I see another magazine article about hangover cures I will eat my cats’ biscuits - that would be a more successful remedy than hair of the dog.

I have never liked New Year’s Eve and would like to counter all these fun-and-frolic suggestions with some of my own:

*When you arrive home after work, shut and lock your front door. Don’t open it to anyone, especially those wearing glittery outfits, blowing party horns and carrying bottles of wine.

*Have a hot bath and get into your pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers as quickly as possible.

*Eat a modest meal, no different to any other night. Consume the leftover turkey if you must, but on all account avoid so-called party food - sausages on sticks, canapes, Ritz crackers with weird things on top. If you’re intent on drinking alcohol limit it to a couple of glasses. Drink as much tea as your heart desires.

*Switch on the TV and turn to any channel broadcasting something unrelated to the dawn of a new year or an appraisal of events in the year gone by. You may have to scroll down to channel 789 before you find anything but persevere, at some point you’re bound to come across Cops with Cameras or Life Below Zero.

*Go to bed before midnight, wearing earplugs so that you are not disturbed by the cacophony of fireworks that should not be allowed to go off in built-up - or rural for that matter - areas so late at night.

*Wake up the following morning feeling bright as a button and make the most of the public holiday with a walk in the countryside or along the coast.

This is how I have conducted myself for a good few years now, and how I intend to mark tonight’s passage into a new year.

If you can blot out the festivities it isn’t so bad. For years I denied myself this regime and partook of the enforced jollity that make New Year’s Eve the most depressing night of the year.

I’ve been to a few parties in my time, most of them dreadful. It’s the lead-up to the countdown I hate most of all, when people are avidly clockwatching and you know it is only a matter of minutes until complete strangers lurch towards you hoping for a snog.

And why would anyone want to hang about for hours in a cold town centre amid dozens of drunk revellers? I did it once, years ago, in Trafalgar Square. Never again.

Then there’s the enforced jollity when everyone pretends that a new year is a great event. Call me a pessimistic doom-monger, but it’s just another day. There are still bills to be paid, chores to be done, problems to be solved. It’s not an age thing that's brought on such feelings - even at 18, I hated New Year’s Eve.

For a few years, when our children were small, we spent New Year’s Eve at a friend’s house, where three couples, including us, enjoyed a delicious meal cooked by my friend, a few bottles of wine and a quiz, while the kids wreaked havoc in another room. They were among the most enjoyable New Year's Eves I can recall. Low key, good conversation, no stress, no slobbering kisses at midnight, just a peck on each cheek.

Now we are usually in bed before the fireworks, or about to go as they start. Pyjamas on, Horlicks drunk. Call us party poopers, but it suits us down to the ground. Happy New Year!